Archive for the 'Life' Category
She’s Got a Silk Dress and…
Posted by on September 27th, 2007, at 9:10pm

I wish I could live in a fantasy world.

Sometimes, I pretend.

‘But it’s no use now,’ thought poor Alice, ‘to pretend to be two people!’

Or to pretend to live in a different world. All the same, I still try. I listen to tips about pick-up artistry, learn names, introduce myself, and wear my best shirt and pin-striped pants.

But since that doesn’t go so well, I watch TV (new this season: Bionic Woman, The Big Bang Theory) and read books. I’ve developed an affinity for 1970s era fiction including scifi and horror: The Odessa File, Carrie, The Sword of Shannara, Ringworld.

I read all of Carrie on Sunday. I love devouring books. I enjoyed it despite the immense amounts of violence, the religious fervor and fanaticism of various characters, violence, and rawness. The movie is in my queue.

I need to go to sleep.

Calloused
Posted by on September 23rd, 2007, at 1:46pm

I found out yesterday one of my aunt’s has cancer. So far, it sounds like she’s got a good chance of making it, but from what little I know of cancer it’s never a positive event in somebody’s life even if the process goes as perfectly as possible.

I want to feel strongly about it, but I haven’t been able to yet. I’m just trying to figure out how/when I’d be able to head down to California to see her and my uncle.

Row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream

merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
life is but a dream

10000
Posted by on September 22nd, 2007, at 10:32pm



10000

Originally uploaded by anwamehtar

I did not get to see Mxpx and I am pissed. But my car hit 10000 miles right when I got home.

A Harmonica’s Grandest Moment (Breaking Social Conventions)
Posted by on September 22nd, 2007, at 8:15am

Heading East:

After a few minutes a very tall girl with long brown hair who I would later learn was a Parsons design student, broke social convention, turned to her fellow benchmates, and said, “My God, wasn’t today beautiful.” At first she just got a few quiet affirmations,”yeah, gorgeous”, “best day yet” etc, but then a young woman in a business suit again broke social convention and revealed personal information: “It was so nice, when I woke up I decided I didn’t want to feel miserable about anything, and broke up with my boyfriend. I ditched him at 7:30 in the morning. He didn’t know what hit him.”

Recently, I’ve been thinking about the unspoken walls that prohibit conversation between individuals in public. I’ve experienced this in many places in America, but it’s become more noticeable to me in Seattle particularly with the daily hour-long bus riders to and from work. Unless you speak to a person first or have previously established a rapport, people are hesitant to speak to you. The omnipresence of cell phones and iPods doesn’t make this any easier.

On the bus, I must have a presence of unapproachability (as stated, the iPod doesn’t make this easier). I find myself oftentimes being one of the last bus seats to acquire a second person when the ride gets full. Do I look like a big (overweight) scary (frowning) white guy?


(Insert pause for a runaway train: I originally found the Heading East post from Raul via Kottke. I started browsing through some of the art and photos on Heading East and got distracted by this photo. It’s one of the best I’ve seen.

candid shot

I ended up browsing through Eliot Shephard’s other photos on Flickr also. Additionally, I ran across an interesting art project called 20×200.

This is as close as the internet can get to ______________. IM, IRC, forums, and Digg don’t count. Try listening to The Album Leaf while you’re on the train.)


Return to the tracks: Martin has been working on talking to women lately. During his brief period of unemployment while he’s waiting for his new job to begin, he set a goal for himself of talking to three women a day. He took to the internet in search for advise.

Now, I probably wouldn’t do it this way, but he found some advice columns from various male resources. Apparently some of these tricks work:
• talk to the woman within three seconds of making contact (eye-contact, arriving next to each other, whatever)
• say something funny (sarcasm doesn’t count… sorry, guys)
• say something belittling — now, this is one step I wouldn’t be likely to use myself, but I guess some girls respond well to this. e.g. “I like your outfit, that’s pretty cool. Although, I think blue would be a better color on you.” (I would never try to give out fashion advice.)

Apparently the idea is to get them to want to earn your interest instead of vice versa.

Instead of just trying to pick up girls or get their attention, I’ve made a few general attempts of spurring conversation the last few days. I managed to discuss the weather and daylight savings time with one of the men who waits for the same bus I do when heading downtown.

While actually on the bus, I’m still working on it.

One man who rides the bus apparently isn’t afraid of breaking taboos. He sits in his seat talking on his cell phone no matter who is around or what’s going on carrying on lengthy conversations. At the end of one of the phone calls, he wished the other person a happy birthday. While holding the phone in his left hand a few inches from his face, he took out his harmonica, held it to his mouth, and played a rendition of the Happy Birthday song.

But I’ve never seen harmonica-man talk with anyone on the bus.

I want to thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds
Posted by on September 17th, 2007, at 7:51pm

It’s been 260 days.

Motion City SoundtrackL.G. FUAD:


I wanna know what it’s like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah
Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves
I’m addicted to words and they’re useless

Sometimes I still want to go out and get slammed. Stephen King describes his alcoholism well in his book “On Writing.”

I had forgotten the trick of being straight–and out of shame.

Hemingway and Fitzgerald didn’t drink because they were creative, alienated, or morally weak. They drank because it’s what alkies are wired up to do. Creative people probably do run a greater risk of alcoholism and addiction than those in some other jobs, but so what? We all look pretty much the same when we’re puking in the gutter.

He writes of a friend:

“How much do you drink?” the counselor asked.
My friend looked at the counselor with disbelief. “All of it,” he said, as if that should have been self evident.

I can relate. As so kindly pointed out by generations of alcoholics and their kin, alcoholism doesn’t end when you put the bottle down. Now I’ve got to learn to put down the pizza, the television, the HIMYM and Scrubs, the music, the movies, the books, the news.

Heck, while I’m at it maybe I ought to deny myself, take up my cross, and follow him.